Where, by Paula Morris

Where are
you from, I ask the waiter.

He is from
Brazil, Poland, Florence.

Sometimes
he is from Mexico, and I

say: so is
my nephew�s fianc�e.



In Auckland
the taxi driver who lives in

Henderson
is from Afghanistan. There are

forty of
them there, he says. They love it, but
they have to make their own bread.



In New York
the taxi driver is from Pakistan.

He asks me
where I�m from, and

ALWAYS ALMOST, NEVER QUITE by David Howard

at home ?in the interpreted world

-
Rainer Maria Rilke, Duino Elegies I





1





The tree on the slope is contingent upon
your voice.

I hear nothing so the tree won�t bend �

I need that tree to bend.



The horizon does not want poetry to keep
going.

Intention? No star meant to be admired and yet�

Praise is impossible without doubt, ask a
teenager.



The

Transport, by Riemke Ensing